(c/f) SG: Reflecting Upon Reflections (or Caustic Illusions) Part C

[Eric Burns]

[Beginning of Part C]


                           *     ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤*


*                              Tuesday Morning*
*                                 (Eastern)*
*                       Not-Worth-Noticing-Apartments*
*                          Undisclosed Location, MD*



     Mega-Intelligence Bureau Special Special Agent Thomas Kim was entirely
unused to a day off. Under Ross, that kind of thing simply hadn't happened.
His replacement, MIB Director O'Larsen, had his own... *way...* of doing
things, and that included giving his people Federal Holidays off 'to be with
their family.' It seemed strangely unAmerican, at least defining America as
the MIB always did.

     Of course, they couldn't *actually* take Memorial Day off, like the
rest of the country -- after all, that was when the *Communists* would sweep
in. Or whatever menace O'Larsen was on about that week. So, they had to have
the following day off. Which meant it was a bright, sunny Tuesday... and Kim
didn't actually need to be there.

     The shower was running in his apartment, though he wasn't showering.
This might have been a dodge -- a way to beat listening devices or a
subterfuge or a means of establishing a water usage record as later evidence
or *something,* but as it worked out this time it meant someone else was
showering. Which wasn't unknown in Kim's apartment, but there was still kind
of a nice newness to the concept.

     Regardless, all and all he was in a pretty good mood, curled up (he
refused to acknowledge it might resemble a canine curling up) on the edge of
his couch, tea sitting by his side, wearing an old tee shirt and blue
sweats, looking out the window at the blue sky and fluffy clouds. It was
weirdly peaceful.

     His secure phone -- the one the MIB supposedly didn't know about, as
opposed to the one they supposedly did -- rang.

     "Of course," Kim said. "Typical." He picked the cordless up. It might
have seemed like a security risk but the encryption between his handset and
the base station was shockingly good. "Go."

     "Hello, Tom. How's the weather."

     Both Kim's eyebrows went up. "Tirkoff?" he asked.

     "Tirkoff. It's mostly cloudy in Boston today, high of about sixty three
degrees with little chance of precipitation but it's kind of dreary
nonetheless, so I'm glad I'm not *in* Boston."

     "Where are you?"

     "Oh, you'll figure it out. I need a favor."

     "A favor." He half-smiled. "You may not have internalized this,
Tirkoff, but you're not exactly the Bureau's favorite lost lamb these days."

     "Oh, I know. That's why I'm calling you instead of one of them."

     "Because... of our extensive past together? I think we spoke like three
times, not counting Akron."

     "Oh, we have to count Akron, 'Field Agent Kim.' You never did get my
coffee order right."

     "I got it right. I had a moral objection to putting six sugars in a
medium coffee."

     "And therefore you now owe me."

     "In no universe do I owe you. If you hadn't screwed the PUS project
over I could have cut Less off at the knees--"

     "If you're looking to guilt me over that, look elsewhere. I spent three
months putting your test subject back together. In some ways she'll never
heal. And if that's just the cost of doing business to you, you have a lot
less soul that I figured."

     "Yeah, well, souls are overrated." Technically, the Spirit of the Wolf
wasn't quite the same thing, but why would he mention that?

     "I'm sure. You're still going to do a favor for me."

     "Or?"

     "Or I'm telling Trudy Galloway you're a werewolf, alive, and the person
who actually led the op instead of Olson. Let's not pretend I'm kidding
around, okay?"

     "I'm not -- I just needed to get the threat on the table so we wouldn't
dance around the subject. So. What favor do you think that buys you."

     "I made sure Random Encounters went to the MIB Lockup in
Not-MIB-Holding-Facility, Virginia, instead of going to the ALU's holding
cells or being processed either in Austin MetaHolding or on his way to the
Really-Really-Hard-To-Get-Out-Of-Place."

     "Really? Seems like an odd choice given everything."

     "Not really. I'm calling a Grey-Out. Full scrub, my involvement never
even showing up on the docket. I know the place is on skeleton staff and
their surveillance gear's already been compromised."

     "Compromised how?"

     "Call it the mysteries of the universe. Random Encounters is going to
simply cease to exist."

     "I think people might notice if--"

     "Oh, don't worry. He'll be on the radio right on time."

     Kim paused for a moment. "Hold on."

     "If you're going to trace this call--"

     "I honestly don't give a crap where you are, Tirkoff. Believe it or
not, I have neither patience nor fucks to give regarding Random Encounters,
and I don't think anyone else in the Agency does either. Hold." He pushed
the hold button, listening. The shower had stopped. Good. "Ennie!" he called
out.

     "Yeah?!"

     "C'mere! Job thing."

     "Right!"

     The bathroom door opened and Special Special Agent Menelaus Roth, also
of the MIB, stepped out, a towel around his midsection. His skin tone was
dusky, and though he was a bit short for a government agent his muscles were
well sculpted. His hair was oddly messy when wet, but the agent still moved
like he was in complete control of his environment... which generally he
was. "What is it?"

     "Tirkoff on the Blue Line."

     "How'd she get that number?"

     "I didn't ask."

     "What does she want?"

     "A Grey-Out on Random Encounters."

     "Is he in our custody?"

     "Apparently, yes."

     "Huh. And?"

     "And I used up my Free Grey-Out Coupon. Do you still have yours?"

     Roth arched an eyebrow. "She's finally pulling the trigger on the
Galloway threat?"

     "I know, right? Welcome to 1995, Tirkoff. Anyway, given the guy I
really don't need to be threatened."

     "Me either -- waste of far too much skin for my tastes. Sure. I'll call
it in from the Yellow Phone at my place. Tell her two hours."

     "Owe you."

     "At this point, you owe me so much I think I own equity in you."

     Kim grinned, taking the call off hold. "Hey, Tirkoff," he said. "How
*did* you get this number?"

     "Come on, Kim. I still have *some* game."

     "I heard -- still wearing grenades in your hair, huh?"

     "Flashbangs. Why does this surprise people? Where do you keep yours?"

     "In my pockets."

     "Well, wear a superhero costume sometime and say that. So?"

     "Two hours. Grey-Out'll happen. I don't want to know anything else
about it. And for the record, that's your one threat-call. Try to use the
Galloway leverage again and I'll release the Easter Island footage."

     "No worries. I figured you wouldn't care once you heard it was Random
Encounters."

     "We miss your smiling face," he said, half-smiling himself.

     "Yeah, that's a lie on so many levels it may cancel out to true.
Goodbye, Kim." The receiver clicked.

     Kim hung up, standing fluidly. "Thanks," he said again.

     Roth shrugged. "It's just two months to the new coupon book. Besides, I
can punch my 'off the books' card. I'm only one away from a sandwich day at
the office, so this'll put us over the top."

     "Seriously? I *do* owe you." Kim walked over.

     "So I keep saying." The two kissed briefly -- just a quick buss. "I
have to go change and get home to call this in. We have this bizarre day off
-- where do we go after that?"

     "Paddle boats?"

     "Please for the love of God, Tom. No more paddle boats."

     "Can I help it? I love paddle boats."

     "Insert dog-paddle joke here. Let's see 'Stealing Beauty.'

     "Ugh. Bertolucci. You know no one likes that movie."

     "They just don't like international cinema or Liv Tyler."

     "You combined those two concepts in one sentence and don't see the
problem? Fine. We'll go see your Italian porn movie."

     "It's not porn. You just lack culture."

     "I was literally raised in the woods."

     "Excuses." Roth headed back into the bathroom. Kim shook his head and
went to grab his tea. It was probably cold but he had to drink that cup
before he could make another. That was the rule.


*                                ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤*


*                              Tuesday Morning*
*                                 (Eastern)*
*                          The Waterfront District.*
*                                 Boston, MA*



     Dani felt vaguely surreal -- like she was going to wake up at any
moment. She was wearing a nice light blue sundress over orange tights which
was actually her orange uniform -- she had to wear her uniform wherever she
went, since it converted the deadly ionizing radiation she constantly
emitted into tasteful color -- orange and green, in this case. She didn't
really feel temperature, so she didn't have a problem keeping covered up
most of the time, but still.

     Bruce was walking next to her, along the harborfront, looking out at
the water. "I never get used to this," he said.

     "Used to... what?"

     "The sun. The sky. The ocean. The smell. Back in Dark City we don't get
sun more than twenty-six minutes a year, the whole place reeks of decay, and
the only nearby lakes are stagnant. This is so... *nice* in comparison."

     "Huh." Dani considered for a moment. "Why does anyone live there?"

     "Money. Opportunities. Lack of opportunities. Inertia. All sorts of
reasons. I have to spend a lot of time back there -- without me, things get
worse. With me... maybe they get better. I don't know."

     "You don't know? I thought you knew everything."

     "I know enough to know that I don't know everything." He turned to her
as they kept walking. "For example. I thought I knew this young woman -- a
bit of a hothead, overconfident like no one's business. Either doesn't take
things seriously enough or takes them far *too* seriously. Angry at me
because of what happened to her sister, and honestly she has every right to
be... but still..."

     Dani opened her mouth, then closed it, looking out at the water
herself. "Still a child. A four year old."

     "Exactly." He took a breath. "But it wasn't true. I was wrong. Maybe
she only had four years before she grew up... but when there was trouble --
including someone she cared a lot about being in danger -- she kept her
head, she came up with a plan, she led others into that plan's execution,
and she kept going -- even when she was badly hurt. And thanks to her... not
only did the heroes get saved... so did another lost soul, when it would
have been easy to just let her fall." He chuckled. "She did far better than
I did the first time I had to try and pull all that together."

     "You would have done better." Dani couldn't quite believe she was
saying that, but it was the only thing she *could* say.

     "I would have done it *differently.* Had a different plan. Would it
have been better? Would it have worked? Who knows? It doesn't matter...
because you had a plan that *did* work." He half-smiled. "You're already an
amazing hero, Dani. You're becoming the best of all of us. I know that,
now."

     "Second best. Dianna's the best." Dani paused. "Um. I mean... I have a
lot to learn before--"

     Bruce laughed. "I know what you mean." He looked at Dani. "And I'm
sorry. Deeply, deeply sorry... for everything that's happened with Dianna.
I'm going to need your help to save her. And you may need mine."

     Dani pursed her lips. "It's your fault she's broken."

     "I know."

     "I can't fix her. I've tried."

     "I know that too. But maybe *we* -- all of us -- can."

     "Maybe." She snorted. "Assuming we get Mike to look away from the
mirror or the cosmic nothing long enough to help."

     "Speaking of things that scare the Hell out of me that'll need all of
us..."

     "Have you figured out how to get to Jane?"

     He shook his head. "And today... there's been a lot of other things to
think about. Samantha. Tim. Roger. Charlie. Burt." He paused. "Maria."

     Dani breathed out. "I know," she said. "I was at breakfast with the
Brats, and they were... they don't like Maria. And I can't blame them... I
know Tim's livid, and Summer doesn't want to hear about it, and... and is it
weird I'm worried about Maria? I mean, she did me a lot of damage before I
contained her -- and she nearly killed people I care more about than I ever
thought I would. And yet..."

     "And yet... you look at her and you see someone else who's broken. Like
Dianna. And instead of exaltation or anger or schadenfreude you feel
compassion. No, that's not weird, Dani." He smiled again. "But it's rare. I
hope you always have that."

     "Yeah." She stopped, turning to Bruce. "What happens to the Mob now?"

     Bruce stopped as well, and he looked at Dani. "I... don't think anyone
who's in a position to make those decisions is in any frame of mind *to*
make those decisions. But if I had to put money on it?"

     "Yeah?"

     "I don't think there's going to *be* a Mob. Phobos is... probably going
to be working mostly support. Always a hero, but not on the front lines any
time soon. Tim and Samantha have had a bad scare, and they have children on
the way. Where Tim goes, Charlie goes. Roger and Hellfire and Momentum all
want to keep going, but they can't create a team out of that." He shook his
head. "We're going to invite them to the Academy full time -- give them a
chance to recover. They'll still need to be recognized as peers -- now more
than ever -- but...."

     "It's a good idea. A good start. Are they going to be able to handle
Maria being in their classes?"

     Bruce paused. "You think that's the right call?"

     "I think it's the *only* call. Bruce... I felt it. I felt Sensation's
power. He made me feel things I've never felt, turned up way higher than any
human being was ever meant to feel. Joy. Pleasure. Agony. Torture. All of
it. He hammered at me with those, and they nearly broke me in less than
three minutes. He had over a day with Maria, and I'm not stuck in sensory
deprivation. Maria may look like a criminal and a traitor right now... but
she's a victim. And either we help her, or when she *does *become a *real*
villain it'll be because we *didn't* help her."

     Bruce chuckled again. "I thought you were just a kid, Dani. Hey -- want
a cup of tea?"

     Dani paused. "Tea?"

     Bruce looked around. "We're standing next to Boston Harbor, and we're
discussing treason and revolution and betrayal and pain and redemption. That
suggests we either drink tea or dump it into the harbor, and these days the
harbormaster frowns on that."

     Dani snorted. "Okay. Why not?"


                         *       ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤*


*                             Tuesday Afternoon*
*                                 (Eastern)*
*                                 MIB Lockup*
*                     Not-MIB-Holding-Facility, Virginia*




     Healer walked up to the front gate of the nondescript office park. It
looked like any other -- a bunch of tech companies with generic names, a
courier service with a bad logo, all brown buildings that looked like they'd
been extruded from an office-space-for-rent Playdoh mold. That's what made
it effective. None of these businesses actually existed beyond the minimum
necessary to maintain the fiction.

     From the point of view of anyone watching, Healer herself was a woman
in her mid-twenties, with dark red hair, maybe five six, petite and perhaps
a bit too angular. She wore black sunglasses and a black suit-and-skirt over
'nude' tights that were, now that she thought about it, kind of innately
racist.

     She walked in the front door, holding up a credential to a bored
looking security guard who waved her through literally without a second
thought. This level of illusion was easy. Just be what looked mundane and
expected without leaving any distinguishing characteristics for a memory to
form around.

     She made her way past three checkpoints. The building was nearly empty,
though there were guards, of course. Right now they only had one prisoner,
though, and he wasn't a flight risk all told.

     On the security monitors and systems throughout the building... there
was no sign that a woman had even walked in the building. Healer had worked
with overwatch before, but never overwatch of JOEL's power and complexity.
This man had been behind Jenny's injury and near-death. JOEL was, if
anything, eager to help.

     Two more checkpoints down and into the actual security wing in the
underground level. Everything was fine. The Grey-Out meant things were
already being expunged, so it wasn't like hiding herself in all the hubbub
was going to be an issue. She walked into the prisoner's cell block--

     And stopped.

     Special Special Agent Richard Less, cigarette in his mouth, black suit
on his body, sunglasses as always on his face, stood there with a slight
smile. "Well hello there, sunshine," he said. "You have the power to be
surprised to see me. Oh! Wait. Sorry. That was the other guy."

     Healer shimmered back into herself. She was in the red and white
version of her heavy work suit. "Hello, Richard," she said.

     "That's all? Just 'hello Richard?' Not even an attempted pun on my name
to get under my skin? You disappoint me, Healer."

     "I can't make that pun. You're the biggest dick I've ever seen."

     "*There* it is," he said, grinning. "Nice! So! What's on our agenda
today?"

     "Oh, I have a little business with your prisoner. So I would say we
have a problem."

     "We do? Oh! Me. Nah. Go for it." He stepped out of her way.

     Healer arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

     "Seriously, Dizzy Lizzy. Grey-Out in effect. Do what you're here to do
and get going. It's even getting us an office sandwich day tomorrow."

     "Why are you here, then? Evidence?"

     "Nope! Not recording, not harboring a super secret backup, not laying a
trap, not doing a thing except standing here."

     "Then why?"

     "Why else? I hate that fat fuck. I want to watch." He grinned more
broadly. "Go ahead, snoop my brain. See if I'm lying. I don't care. I know
you won't poke where you shouldn't. Which is *weird.* If it were me -- ah
well, but it's not. Hell. I don't even want to use you as leverage against
Selanova now that she's crossed the river. I'm just here for the joy of the
moment."

     Healer snorted. "From the outside, it won't be much of a show."

     "Never said it would be." He took another drag. "You know something,
beautiful? These things'll kill me." He looked at the cigarette -- at the
burning ash at the end. "I know that. Every so often I stop. But then...
right when shit gets real, they're right back in my hand. You should
remember that, while you're working with Mendez. An addiction stays in you.
It sticks down deep, and yanks you back when you least expect it. All you
need's a push, or a bad enough day, or a reason why it's just this once."

     "All very true. Are you looking for help? I don't really do Smoking
Cessation counseling and I can't ethically treat you anyhow, but I can refer
you to some experts."

     "Oh, I doubt you know the right experts to help me." He took another
drag. "Need a cup of coffee or anything?"

     "No thanks. I remember your coffee."

     "You remember a lot of things today, I'll bet." He nodded. "Clock's
ticking, and I do love seeing your ass move in that uniform, so walk on by."

     Healer snorted again, walking past. She could obfuscate, but she
honestly had no reason to care. She stepped through the doors, visible
through the one-way glass of course, and shut the door.

     Sitting in a chair in the corner, legs cuffed to the legs of the chair,
wearing a grey jumpsuit and a lot of bandages, sat Random Encounters. He had
a swollen eye that had darkened to full black-eye status as well, and more
than one bandage on his face. His midsection had been taped up for broken
ribs, and he had at least three casts on appendages. "Well well well," he
said. "Doctor Tirkoff -- or should I say Healer?"

     "Healer's the polite thing to say," she answered. "Comfortable?"

     "Not really -- they're pretty slow with reupping the pain medication."

     "I'm shocked. Really." She cocked her head. "Why did you *goad*
Reflects right after she saw Sensation die? Were you *trying* to get
killed?"

     He shrugged as well as he could. "All I had left was spitting in their
eye. I figured I'd bait Summer into committing cold blooded murder and get
herself branded a dangerous loose cannon at the least. Reflects was a poor
plan B but sometimes you take what you can get."

     "Even if Summer had killed you you'd have failed. Who would testify
supporting that assertion? You tried to murder a lot of people, and *did*
kill your own henchman. Self-defense would be *simple* to make stick."

     "Not in her own head. Not in the eyes of her fiance or daughter or
*you.* If all I could do was poison one of them at that point, why wouldn't
I?"

     Healer shook her head. "Why? Why do all this?"

     "Because I hate them. I hate them so much. I hate their house. I hate
their dog. I hate their smug expressions. I hate their stupid faces. I long
since stopped caring about the hows and whys. They are everything wrong with
this country -- everything *liberal* with this country. Just like you."

     "You say that word like it means something to you, but it doesn't.
'Liberal' out of your mouth just means 'someone I don't like.' You're no
conservative. Not any more. You've had a sickness growing in you for years,
born of that first dark tome you read. And even if it did mean something to
you... I was recruited for government work by George Herbert Walker Bush
himself when he was Vice President under Reagan. What makes you think
there's anything *liberal* about me, at least today?"

     He snorted. "You go on saying that. All I know is this. Sooner or later
they're going to send someone in to debrief me. I'll get a chance to contact
someone senior to them. They'll get me out of here and my information will
go where I want it to go. And then I'll be free and I'll still know all
their precious little secrets. Reflects was *incredibly* thorough. Want to
know which ones harbor dirty little fantasies about you?"

     "Mental, Roger, and Maria herself to her own slightly homophobic
horror, plus the usual casual asides. I'm a telepath and no postadolescent
shields well when he's hot for teacher. Not even Mental. Dreamweaver's
indulgent of his fantasy life, though. She understands that everyone
fantasizes... about *so* many things."

     "Well, she would, wouldn't she. Messing with people's dreams. And you
say I'm a monster."

     "No. I say you're sick. You have a *deep* sickness. Almost terminal.
But that's okay. We can help you. *I* can help you. I'm a doctor."

     "Help me? What -- you're going to psychoanalyze me? I know the rumors
about your past but I also know you don't 'heal' people of their superpowers
any more -- not beyond temporary blocks. You sure as Hell aren't going to do
anything to *me.* So why are we here?"

     Healer smiled a bit more. "Wow," she said. "You really *are* a bad
judge of character."

     Random Encounters blinked. "What?"

     Healer paced in front of the prisoner. "It's true -- I've had to do a
lot of soul searching in the past few years -- things that seemed so
justified... so black and white... seem so questionable now. Eliminating the
powers of others. Wiping memories or skills. It's a nightmare scenario when
used indiscriminately. I had to learn that. In ways I had to atone." She
turned, and looked in his eyes. "But you know something? Sometimes it *is*
justified."

     Random Encounters's eyes grew wider. "Wh-what?"

     "You have all this half-learned occult and scientific knowledge. You
know all these secrets -- not just the Mob's, either. And it's grown in your
head like a cancer, wiping out any possibility of a good man remaining. I
already told you. You're sick. I can help." She smiled, very slowly. It was
a smile with no warmth in it whatsoever. "I can *heal* you."

     "...no. No, you don't -- you can't--"

     "Oh I can. Really easily."

     "Hey! *HEY!*" he shouted. "I need help in here! I have rights! I
have--"

     "Oh Random Encounters... don't scream. I'd tell you not to waste your
breath, but you aren't. We haven't been speaking audibly since the moment I
shut the door. All this? Is just in your head." Healer began to glow, a
slightly greenish hue that spread out, leaving white behind it. "Now... open
your mind and say 'ah.' If you're good, there's a lollipop in it for you."

     Outside the cell, Richard Less watched the telepath stand in front of
Random Encounters. She was right, there wasn't really much of a show --
well, discounting her in a tight uniform. But for once, he wasn't looking at
that. He knew a few signs he could watch. Random Encounters's jaw muscles
clenching. His breaking into a sweat. His shivering.

     "That's it," he murmured. "Suck on that cancer-stick, Tirkoff. Breathe
that sweet smoke into your lungs. Remember how good it tastes... how good it
feels... and how much you hate riding on that wagon. After all, he deserves
it. I'd do it without a second thought." His lips grew into a smirk. "I
wonder how many thoughts *you* gave it."



[End of Part C. Part D follows.]
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